Breathe
by subseeker
Summary: A knife. A goddamn knife in the hand of a maniac who thought he has to make a death threat become reality. It is what Dean tells Hunter. That we all have should have taken those death threats more serious. (Shield one-shot with Rolleigns themes. NOT a death-fic!)


This one followed me around for a few days now, so I decided to write it down. It's short and maybe you'll like it :)

This is _not_ a death-fic.

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There's a buzzing in my ears, dulling the world around me. I hear. I hear not. And the only thing I want to hear… no one says it. My head is spinning and I feel numb, but the numbness can't take the pain away that tears me apart.

From the corner of my eye I see Hunter and Randy and a few more of the guys walk towards me, but Dean bars their way, stops them. Through the buzzing I hear him speak. His low, rough voice… it is like an anchor for me. I don't know what I would do if he wasn't here now and I know he is scared, too, shocked and still he somehow manages to be strong for both of us.

Don't, he tells them. Just leave him alone. Randy and Hunter complain and Hunter even pulls the boss-card, but this is Dean he's talking to and Dean… tells him to stay away from me or he'll make him. And I'm thankful for it. I can't stand having anyone come close now… except Dean.

White clad people pass me constantly. Door open. Close. Revealing more white clad people. But none of them stops to tell me… tell me that he's okay. That he'll get through this. I don't even know how long we're sitting here already, waiting. Hoping. I can't hold back the shuddering sigh and my eyes are burning from the tears which just don't want stop falling. But I don't care. I don't fucking care for anything anymore. And if he dies in there, I…

I close my eyes tightly, trying hard not to think about that. If there's a God, he's not taking him away from me. But the very second my eyes are closed, I see those pictures again, too vividly and although I open my eyes again immediately, the pictures stay and as my gaze drops to my hands, covered with dried blood… his blood… I'm back at that moment.

It all has happened so damn fast. One second we're kicking our asses outside the ring and the next second there is a push and… I don't think that I can ever forget how he looked at me. That expression… I don't even have a name for it. Surprise, relief, shock and something else. And I know I'm never gonna forget how he reached up to his chest, touching it… and the blood that has been covering his fingers as he lifted his hand, staring at it. And then he collapsed. The next thing I know is that I kneeled beside him, pressing my hand onto the wound to stop the bleeding somehow, while everything around us became a blur and my world filled with fear and panic, because he was lying there, bleeding. It has been so much blood. Too much… I can still feel his hand holding mine, his hold getting weaker with every passing second and the fear in his eyes and I still can hear myself talking to him, telling him to hold on, to stay with me. And his breathing, ragged, shallow and…wet. Getting more strained with every breath he took. Breathe, I whispered to him. Breathe…

A knife. A goddamn knife in the hand of a maniac who thought he has to make a death threat become reality.

It is what Dean tells Hunter. That we all have should have taken those death threats more serious and Hunter is right when he says that it hasn't been the first time a WWE Superstar has gotten death threats, that it happens permanently for random reasons. I hear Dean growl then and I don't have to look over, I know he's pretty much nose to nose with Hunter now, because slowly he's losing it, too. In the end Dean is also only human. It doesn't make it any better, he hisses. My brother is in there, fighting for his life, he adds much quieter.

And all this has happened because someone out there does not understand the difference between a show and the real life.

My eyes are still fixed on my hands and I curl my fingers slowly and the way my skin tauts because of the dried blood makes me want to throw up. I don't even have the words to describe what I feel, it is… I breathe, my heart beats. I'm here. Somehow. My body works on autopilot while my mind wails.

If only someone would come and tell me that he'll get through this…

I brush a thumb over the back of my hand. Again. And again. And suddenly I need to get the blood off and with a sob I begin to rub my hands, but the blood sticks to my skin. I scratch at it, but only where my tears leave wet spots on my hands I can get it off. I'm breathing fast, too fast, because I begin to feel dizzy and faintly I hear his name being whispered and it takes me a second to understand that _my_ lips are forming his name, that it is _me_ who's whispering so desperately…

Someone kneels right in front of me and hands settle on mine, stopping me. I flinch hard and look up, meeting dull blue eyes. Sad eyes, puffy and reddened. Worried eyes with the same fear I feel lying in them. Dean. He tries himself on a comforting little smile and although it's a shaky one, it is something I can hold on to, at least for this moment.

He lets go of my hands and reaches down to a kidney basin which is sitting beside his leg, takes a wet cloth and begins to gently clean my hands and while his eyes are fixed on his task, mine stay glued to his. It takes a minute or two until he's done and meeting my gaze again, he reaches for another wet cloth, brings it to my face and wipes over my cheek. Once more I feel like throwing up as I understand that there has been blood, too…

We stare at each other for long moments after he's done and I want to say thank you, want to say so much to him, but when I open my mouth… not a single word passes my lips. It is okay, he murmurs. I know, his eyes say. Once again he brings a hand up, smoothing it over my hair, cups the back of my head and gently pulls me in, because he knows that I need it now, his embrace. He _knows_ me. I bury my face against his shoulder, while my arms circle his back to hold on to him.

He's tough, he whispers, he'll get through this.

There is a _he won't leave you _underlining his words and maybe Dean knows… it. Dean is my best friend, my brother, but with him it has always been different. The warmth I feel when Dean is around me is different to the one I feel when… when _he_ is around me. I can't name it. It's just not the same. The one I feel with Dean is a sunny warmth, a brotherly one. But with _him_ it is… golden, pristine. It makes my heart jump in way that has nothing to do with being friends and brothers. I feel a kiss being dropped to my hair and Dean whispers to me again soothingly. I stop trembling. It's now that I realize that I've been trembling all the time before…

Minutes pass. It feels like lifetimes. Eventually Dean draws back and I don't want him to go, but when I try to pull him back in, he says that the doc is back. The whole time I have waited for the doc to come back and now I don't dare looking up at the man. The buzzing in my ears fades, but trembling is back. I can't breathe and my heart trips painfully, again and again. And I wait that he speaks.

He's alive, the doc says. The next twenty-four hours are critical, but he has the best chances.

I bury my face in my hands and groan quietly as a crushing weight lifts off me and I go from not breathing at all to breathing too fast again. There is a sick little laughter crawling up my throat at the relief that surges through me, making me feel oddly high, but I bite that laughter back.

And he says something about that the knife missed the heart, but the lung has been perforated. That there has been a alarming blood-loss.

But my mind spins around his first words and it is what I hold on to.

He's alive. _He's alive…_

He's in the ICU, I hear the medic say, and that one person can sit at his bed.

I see several persons move at that comment, but once more Dean bars their way and says in a voice that leaves no room for discussion, that I'm the one who's going. I don't even get why anyone of them thinks they would has the right to sit at his bed. The only persons here who _do_ have the right are Dean and I. And Dean knows that I need to be there now.

I look over to him and as our gazes lock. I see relief lying in those blue eyes. He nods. And I go.

A chill runs down my spine as I step into the ICU. It's eerily quiet in here, except for the beeping of the monitors. There are various motionless persons lying in white beds with lots of wires and stuff connecting them to various devices, but my eyes find him immediately. The doc tells me that he's not awake yet, but that he might wake up any minute. I nod. And then I'm standing at his bed.

A respiratory mask is covering his mouth and nose, but his features are smooth and for anyone else it could have looked as if he's only fast asleep, but I know his face. I know how he looks when he's asleep. This now is only a lifeless shadow of it. It's not peaceful, not… angelic. But he's breathing and that's the only thing that matters. Very carefully I sit down on the edge of the bed and take his hand in mine, brush a thumb over the back of it, before leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek, close to the mask.

My other hand comes up to cup his cheek as I whisper: "Don't leave me, Rome. Don't do that, you hear me? And who told you to take that knife for me, huh? Promise me that you won't play the white knight ever again. I can't lose you." I sigh and place another kiss on his cheek. "I love you…"

Fingers close around mine. It takes a second or two until it sinks into my mind. My chest constricts for a brief moment and my heart begins to pound hard, but then it settles for a relieved and happy jumping as his eyes open slowly, his gaze roaming around disorientated for a moment, before it finds mine. He blinks and I do, too, because my vision blurs by even more tears. A small part of me wonders how much he has heard, but the bigger part doesn't care. I guess he has heard those last three words and it is good if he has. I have almost lost him. He should know that I'm in love with him and the tired smile in his eyes and on his lips tells me that it is okay. I feel a soft tug at my hand, see his lips move under the mask and carefully I lift it off his face and lean close.

Love you, too…

Whispered words… and I have to close my eyes at the sweet ache they leave behind. If he means it the way I mean it when I say those words, I don't know. We've gotten the time to find out about it. I use the chance to steal a kiss from his lips and Jesus, those lips are softer than I ever could have imagined. Placing the mask back to where it should be, I lock gazes with him again and find a certain sparkle in those grey orbs before they close. The smile is still there on his lips.

Never letting go of his hand, I sit on the chair beside the bed and watch as his features become smooth again and this time he looks much more like being asleep. I take a deep breath, focus on the tingling the kiss has left on my lips, on his warm hand holding mine, on his breathing. And I tell myself that things will be okay. We will be okay.

Everything falls off me suddenly, the fear, the panic, the numbness. The pain. Only the shock leaves its traces behind and how can it not? But with every breath I take I feel ease settle over me. And exhaustion.

For a long while all I do is holding his hand and watching him. I love this man in every possible way. Roman owns my heart. For much too long I have kept it a secret, hidden in the depths of my heart, but this has been a much too close call. A wake-up call to get things straight, to act on my feelings before someone takes him away from me.

It should be me lying there, not him. This knife was meant for _me_, goddammit… This is never gonna happen again. I'm not gonna risk that those I hold close to my heart get hurt or… worse… because of me.

My free hand finds my phone and my thumb sweeps over the screen. A message to Hunter. Two words.

I quit.

I switch the phone off and store it away, scooting closer to the bed and very carefully I lift his hand a bit, breathe a kiss to its back. His skin is warm against my lips. Alive. I lean back in my chair, still holding his hand. It is what I'll do for the next twenty-four hours. Sit at his side, hold his hand and be there for him. Whatever higher spirit is up there, it has given us a second chance.

And I'm gonna do everything to make this right…

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**A review or two will be very much appreciated ;)**


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